Christmas Party
by transmutejun
Summary: Ken gets invited to a Galactor Christmas party. (Loosely based on the film 'The Party' with Peter Sellers, although it is not necessary to have seen the film to read the fic.)
1. Chapter 1

Berg Katse slumped behind his desk, whose vast surface was covered in mounds of paperwork. Nearby, his laptop chimed with the sound of yet another incoming email message. To his other side, his tablet computer bleeped with three more reminders of upcoming meetings.

How was he ever going to get it all done? As usual, he would have to delegate to his staff.

"Donroy, get in here!" He barked into his intercom, so loudly that he practically heard the man jump on the other side of the wall. Immediately the door opened and Donroy rushed in, nearly tripping over his small, spindly legs. The man looked like a weasel, but at least he could get things done. That was all that mattered… for now.

"Donroy, what is all of this?" Katse gestured to the piles of paper in outrage and disgust.

"Just the weekly reports, Sire." Donroy bowed, trembling fitfully. "You had asked to review them personally…"

"Yes, well, 'personally' does not mean _personally_!" Katse spat. "You review them for me! You know what I want. And if anything should happen to be approved that _doesn't_ meet my specifications…" Katse grinned nastily.

"Yes, Sire. I understand." Donroy replied, hurriedly gathering up as many papers as he could. Katse smirked, knowing that the man would purposefully deny anything that was not absolutely within the strict limits of Galactor expenditures.

Donroy scurried away, yet a number of papers still remained on the desk. The small man's twig-like arms could apparently only carry so much at a time. Katse pushed absent-mindedly through what was left until he had at least touched every one. That should be good enough. He wasn't meant for drudgery like this; he was the Leader of Galactor, damnit! Now to look at the email…

His email was equal parts 'legitimate' and spam. He snorted indignantly at one message with a title that promised to 'make her scream all night'. Berg Katse was in a unique position to know exactly what was needed to accomplish such a task, yet jaded enough to understand that the relevant information was not to be found in emails such as this. Perhaps he should quit Galactor and make millions from sexual advice to desperate young men. Goodness knew there were enough of them, many filling up the majority of the Galactor forces.

His meanderings were interrupted by the harsh shrill of his phone. Impatiently he picked it up, snapping at the caller.

"What is it? ... Oh… the Hontwarl spy is dead? Excellent! So the plan to use his son as bait worked then… What?! ... The son isn't dead? ... What do you mean you didn't find his body? ... He must be killed at once! ... What do you mean you _can't_? ... Oh, well, yes, I understand… I've been there too, you know…. But still… all right, I'll take care of it myself! What's the brat's name again?"

Katse grabbed the nearest pen he could lay his hands on, scribbling in irritated fashion on the sheet of paper in front of him: a list of people to be executed for noncompliance with Galactor objectives.

"K…e…n…W…a…s…h…i…o…" he spelled out as he wrote. "From… Utoland… Fine! It'll be done! Just make sure you get onto your next assignment!" He slammed the down phone in disgust. Trust his bumbling captains to let something like this slip through the cracks! He'd have to waste his crack assassination team on this idiot boy… whatever his name was. Katse had already forgotten it.

The intercom buzzed, and Donroy's quavering voice came through.

"Lord Katse? I need to make the final arrangements for the Christmas party…"

"Christmas party? Already?" Katse snarled.

"It's… today is December 20th." Donroy pointed out. "The men are starting to wonder…"

"Oh, all right. Frozen pizza and watered-down beer, like last year."

"Of course, Sire, but I wasn't referring to the general party. I meant the officer's party."

"Oh." Katse frowned momentarily. It was astounding how much he had to pamper these officers when all they gave him in return was their own incompetence. Still, it _was_ Christmas. A miracle _could_ happen. Maybe.

"We'll have it at the Galactor Mansion. The usual: caviar, roast Cornish hen, chocolate soufflés, plenty of domestic champagne, you know the drill."

"Excellent, Sire. Now I just need the guest list."

"Can't you use last year's guest list?"

"Most of those men are dead, Sire. Would you like me to invite their widows?"

"No, why waste anything on them? They're useless." Katse snorted.

"I left a proposed guest list on your desk, Sire. Have you had a chance to approve it?"

"Approve…? Oh, yes. Yes I have."

"Then I'll be in to collect it, Sire."

Before Katse could respond, Donroy came into the office and rifled through the papers still remaining on the Galactor Leader's desk until he located the one he wanted.

"Oh, and take that list of targets for the Assassination Squad too." Katse waved offhandedly at Donroy as he returned to his email. "I want those people eliminated by Christmas. No point in letting them see the new year."

"As you command, Sire." Donroy bowed, scrambling out of the office.

Back at his own tiny desk, Donroy sighed in relief. Being Lord Katse's personal secretary was a high-ranking position with a lot of clout, but he didn't know how much longer his heart would be able to take it. Taking a few deep breaths to calm himself, he looked at the two lists. Yes, there was the list of people to be eliminated. Donroy carefully scanned in the paper and sent it off to the Blackbird Captain. And here was the list of guests for the officers' Christmas party! It was exactly as it had been when Donroy had sent it in for approval, except for one more addition scribbled on the bottom of the paper in Berg Katse's disjointed handwriting. A Ken Washio from Utoland…

Donroy had never heard of this man, but then that wasn't surprising. Galactor was a massive organization with hundreds of thousands of personnel worldwide. Thanks to constant 'eliminations' amongst front—line personnel, new positions were always opening up, only to be filled by newly-minted officers. Shrugging, Donroy turned to his computer, searching for the address of the last-minute guest.

88888

Ken blinked blearily as the sun shone brightly into his eyes, causing him to scrub at his face and turn away from the light. His one day to sleep in and he had forgotten to close the blinds. Of course, staying up until three am destroying Galactor's latest base would make anyone forgetful, but Ken wasn't in a forgiving mood at the moment, even if the person he was trying to forgive was himself.

Ah well, at least he could get a head start on some mail deliveries. Maybe he'd even be early for a change. Goodness knew he could use the cash. Still, it was difficult to motivate himself to get out of bed. Ken let his mind drift, thinking about recent events. He had met his father… Well, he had met the man before that, but only recently had he _known_ that Red Impulse was his father. And seconds later, the man had been brutally throwing him across a room and leaping into a rocket to save the world… and sacrifice himself. At the same time, the 'spy' known as Kentaro Washio had been 'killed by Galactor'… or so Dr. Nambu had put about, in an attempt to keep Ken's identity as Kentaro's son from being a threat.

Ken had been so angry… at Galactor, at the situation he was in, and also at his father. It had taken Jun's words… words shouted in frustration and fury, as the Science Ninja Team was about to die… to bring him back to his senses. He owed her one. Heck, he owned her more than one, but that was something else altogether.

Thinking of Jun had its own effect on his body, and that was something he wasn't ready to deal with right now, not while Galactor still threatened the Earth. It was this, more than anything, that forced him from his bed. He trudged into the kitchen, searching for something that might serve as his breakfast.

He was just munching on some stale Poptarts when he heard the mail come through the postal slot. Probably more bills. Sighing, he went to pick up the envelopes that now littered the floor in front of his door. Sure enough, two bills, an advertisement, and… what was this?

The remnants of his Poptart dropped to the coffee table as Ken sat down on his battered couch, staring curiously at the thick, creamy, paper envelope in his hand. His name and address had been written in a fancy calligraphy on the front. It looked like an invitation of some kind. But who would be contacting him here at the airfield? His life as Ken Washio consisted of a failing air delivery business and a tab a mile long at the Snack Jun. Why would he be invited anywhere? The postmark was a generic bulk icon, indicating nothing about the sender.

Bowing to the inevitable, Ken slid a finger underneath the heavy flap, pulling back the edge and giving himself a paper cut in the process. Wincing, he pulled out the thick card stock nestled within the silvery interior of the envelope.

"Your presence is requested…" Ken muttered to himself as he studied the card. "But it doesn't say by whom." He turned over the card, noting the address on the back: some mansion at least two hundred kilometers away from Utoland.

"Black tie, festive attire acceptable." he noted, his eyes widening as he looked at the date. December 23rd… this must be a Christmas event! He hadn't even realized it was close to Christmas. What day was it anyway?

With a start Ken realized that it was December 22nd. This event, whatever it was, was tomorrow night. His first instinct was to throw the invitation away; he hated formal events, and anything that was black tie, festive or not, was enough to drive him crazy. Ken Washio just wasn't made out for hobnobbing with snooty people who made polite chit chat and drank overly-expensive alcohol.

Still… something this expensive must have come from the ISO. Who else would be inviting him to an occasion like this? Curiously Ken lifted his wrist to contact Dr. Nambu, then stopped just before the connection was activated. Dr. Nambu had taken some time off. In his own way, Ken understood that his father's death was hitting Dr. Nambu just as hard as it had hit him. The Doctor had asked not to be disturbed for anything other than a crisis… and this was hardly a crisis. In fact, it was entirely possible that this invitation had been sent to Ken because Dr. Nambu was unavailable.

Grimacing, Ken lifted his bracelet again, initiating a different communication.

"G3 here. What's up?"

"Jun, I need you to help me rent a tux." Ken sighed.


	2. Chapter 2

Ken pulled at his collar as he turned into the driveway, his car smoking and rattling with every meter. He rarely drove his car other than on his regular visits to the Snack J, and as such he hadn't paid too much attention to its maintenance schedule. However tonight's two-and-a-half hour drive to the ISO event had taken a toll on the little-used vehicle, to the point where Ken could only hope that he would make it back to Utoland after the party was over. He was literally sweating bullets, and his rented tuxedo didn't help matters any. Despite Jun's assistance, the shop had been unable to find a shirt that fit him properly… or perhaps, as Jun had suggested, he was simply unused to such attire and as such all of the shirts made him uncomfortable. Everything had felt as if it was choking him, and the bow tie was sufficient to cement the feeling of constant strangulation. To top it all off, it had been so long since he had worn anything other than his Birdstyle or civilian uniform that the simple novelty of different clothes was enough to set him on edge. The evening hadn't even begun, yet Ken was already certain he would have a miserable time.

Jun had offered to accompany him; after all, the invitation hadn't specified whether or not he was allowed to bring along a 'plus one', but Ken had firmly turned her down. While he would have greatly appreciated the company, he didn't want to give her the wrong impression about the way things were between them. Worse yet, he was afraid that had she accompanied him, _he_ would have forgotten the way things were _supposed_ to be between them. That was a mistake he could ill afford until the war was over, Christmas or no.

The driveway seemed to stretch for miles, made of paving stones laid out in subtle patterns and lined with tall, non-deciduous trees. The effect gave the impression that Ken was all alone in the middle of nowhere, a feeling that, given his line of work, made him decidedly uncomfortable.

Without warning, a massive country house rose up from behind the trees, emerging into view with the elegance of a palace and the solidity of a mountain. A trail of lights indicated the direction he should drive, and a few moments later Ken found himself pulling up to an ornate staircase leading up to the vast double doors that marked the entrance to the house. The doors were open, allowing bright light to spill out onto the red-carpeted entranceway.

Ken's car belched and smoked as it approached a young man in a red jacket and black pants.

"Do… do you have an invitation, Sir?" the teenager asked, his eyes darting nervously toward Ken's car.

"Yes." Ken nodded as if nothing were amiss, pulling out his invitation from inside his jacket. He handed it to the teenager for examination.

"Oh." the boy nodded, handing the card back to Ken. "All right, I guess. I'll need your keys, Sir." Ken winced. He hadn't even considered the possibility of valet parking. A flush colored his cheeks as he emerged from the still-running vehicle. The car rattled and moaned as the boy took his place in the driver's seat. Ken did his best to ignore the incongruity as three quiet luxury cars pulled up behind him.

Pushing aside his momentary embarrassment, Ken straightened his jacket and made his way up the stairs toward the entrance. A man there checked his invitation for the second time that evening, then ushered Ken inside.

The interior of the home was extravagant, yet thanks to his experiences as Gatchaman Ken did not feel instantly uncomfortable, as he had with the valet. The large foyer and vast reception hall beyond reminded him of the royal palaces he had seen during his work with the Science Ninja Team. That was not to say that such an environment made him feel at home, but at least he wasn't completely out of his element.

"Champagne, Sir?"

Ken whirled around, startling another teenager in an ill-fitting tuxedo. The teen was holding out a tray of champagne flutes, which were wobbling slightly.

"Uh, no thanks." Ken shook his head. "I don't drink. Is there anything non-alcoholic?"

"Non-alcoholic?" The waiter's face screwed up in surprise, as if he had never heard such a request before. "Uh… I don't know. I'll have to check."

"Okay." Ken nodded, watching the waiter move off. He looked around, uncertain as to how to proceed. He had never been very good at parties. Everyone else seemed to know each other, talking in small groups, moving easily around the large room. Rather than being bare, the floor was scattered with clusters of couches and chairs, clearly encouraging people to sit in groups and become involved in conversation. A massive Christmas tree took up one corner of the room, reaching nearly to the two-storey ceiling. Twinkling lights circled the room, with various other elegant holiday decorations interspersed throughout. Long tables along the walls held all manner of fancy hors d'oeuvres of the kind that made Ken's stomach squirm. He didn't like to eat anything that came from animals so exotic he'd never heard of them, tiny raw sea creatures that still tasted of slime, or things pureed so fine he couldn't even tell what he was ingesting. If he had no teeth then maybe he'd want some baby food, but he didn't see that happening anytime soon.

Avoiding the hors d'oeuvres tables, Ken awkwardly approached one of the groups of chairs, sitting down gingerly and trying desperately to figure out what he should do next.

"I tell you, the new big thing isn't the W3 project, it's something else!" One man was saying to another as the pair walked up and sat down near Ken. "I've heard them talking, but they hush up whenever I come close. It makes me nervous."

"Well we were invited to the party." the other man pointed out. "That says something for our status."

"You've got a point," the first man admitted, "but I don't know everyone here. There are a lot of new faces… maybe we're being replaced."

"If we were being replaced, would we still be here?"

"Maybe; who knows how they think? Wait!" the original speaker turned toward Ken. "You're new, aren't you? I don't know you."

"Uh… Ken Washio." Ken stuck out his hand, uncertain as to how to proceed. The other two men merely stared at him, leaving Ken's fingers awkwardly hanging in midair. After a moment, Ken dropped his arm back to his side.

"I'm sure you're not being replaced." Ken offered, slightly unnerved by the way the other two were glaring at him.

"You're _sure_ are you?" the first man huffed. "What do you _know_?"

"I don't know anything!" Ken assured them quickly. "I just don't think two experienced men such as yourselves would be replaced so easily."

"You really _are_ new, aren't you?" the second man laughed harshly. "Don't worry, you'll learn." He stood up and moved away, followed by the other man. Even as they departed Ken could feel their suspicion settling over him like a dark cloud.

"So much for small talk." Ken muttered to himself.

"Talking to yourself, are you?" a large, meaty hand clamped down upon Ken's shoulder, grasping it heartily before slapping him on the back, nearly sending him sprawling off of his chair. A man moved around, allowing Ken to get a look at him as he approached. He was extremely large, with a protruding stomach that spoke of years of excess. His red nose and pungent breath clearly indicated that he had been liberally partaking of the champagne.

"That's normally a bad sign," the man continued, plunking himself down on a couch near Ken, "but around here, you never know."

"I suppose not." Ken replied, eying the man warily.

"Jack Thompson." the man introduced himself, sticking out his hand and grabbing Ken's in a tight grip.

"Ken Washio." Ken replied, vainly hoping that Jack wouldn't attempt to crush all of the bones in his right hand. Fortunately the other man held off on maiming Ken's fingers, but Ken still had to fight off an urge to shake out his hand once it was finally released.

"So, Ken, you're here alone?" Jack asked with mock surprise, looking around the room in an exaggerated fashion. "Good-looking young guy like yourself, I'd expect you'd have a date, or at least an escort."

"Well… uh…" Ken cast about for an answer.

"I'm in the middle of my fifth divorce." Jack said confidentially, in a whisper loud enough to carry across the room. "This one lasted for all of four months, can you believe it?" He guffawed loudly, slapping his knee.

"I'm… sorry?" Ken wasn't certain how to respond to this information.

"Yeah, me too! I wish it had only lasted two months!" Jack snickered. "Women! You can't live with them, you can't live without them. Am I right, boy?"

"Well…"

"See, I knew you'd agree with me!" Jack roared. "Hey, kid, over here with that champagne!" He beckoned to a nearby waiter, taking the entire tray from the startled teen's arms. "And bring back another for my friend here!"

"Uh, I don't drink." Ken interjected. "Perhaps something non-alcoholic?"

"Yes, Sir!" the waiter said quickly, before running off in a manner that suggested he wasn't eager to return anytime soon.

"Little wussy boy, still belongs with his mama!" Jack snorted at the retreating waiter. "Hey, what's with you not having a drink, Ken? You need to get your gumption up!" He shoved a champagne flute at Ken, nearly spilling half of its contents onto Ken's sleeve in the process.

"Um, thanks." Ken said quickly, realizing that protesting would be of no avail. He pretended to take a sip, then set the glass down on the coffee table in front of him.

"See? Isn't that better?" Jack slapped Ken heartily on the back again, making Ken inordinately grateful that he had had the foresight to put down the champagne flute.

"Much." Ken choked.

"You look like a good guy, Ken. Let me give you a little advice…" Jack began. But it didn't end there. Jack went on and on, bellowing and chortling, hardly giving Ken a chance to get in a word to respond, much less get away. Ken heard numerous details about Jack's wives, his drinking and the sports teams he followed, none of which was of any interest to Ken whatsoever. The entire time Jack downed glass after glass of champagne as if it were water. Eventually such rapid ingestion of alcohol had its natural effect, and Jack excused himself to go visit the facilities. It was with great relief that Ken watched him depart. The moment Jack was out of sight Ken stood, intending to move off so that Jack wasn't able to corner him again once he emerged from the bathroom.

Of course, the problem with this was that now he was on his own once more, feeling more awkward by the minute. He stood off to the side of the room for a moment, wondering vaguely if he should have taken the glass of champagne with him, just so he would have something to occupy his hands.

"Just what I was looking for!"

The soft feminine purr sent alarm bells ringing inside Ken's head. He whipped his body around, nearly knocking into a tall, blonde girl leaning over him.

"Excuse me… Miss… I think you have me confused with someone else." he said nervously, his eyes bulging as they fell on the exposed décolletage of the woman confronting him. She looked to be in her late teens, with long, blonde hair and a bright red dress so tight it might as well have been painted on. Her blue eyes took on a predatory expression Ken only vaguely understood, yet it unnerved him all the same.

"Oh I don't have you confused with anyone." the girl replied confidently, placing her hand on Ken's shoulder in a possessive manner. "The hottest guy at this dull party, standing underneath the mistletoe? Well that just grabbed my attention right there."

"Mistletoe?" Ken choked, immediately looking upward to spot the offending greenery. Big mistake. The girl topped him by at least six inches, and as such turning his view upward only brought his face closer to hers. She smiled like a cat that had eaten a bowl of cream, bending her head downward…

"I… I didn't realize there was mistletoe…" Ken protested, taking a step back, sending the girl stumbling. Now that he had moved away slightly he was able to see something green hanging from the ceiling, but whether it was holly or mistletoe he couldn't tell.

"Doesn't matter, you've got to pay the price." the girl insisted, grabbing Ken's head with both hands and suddenly mashing her lips against his. Ken choked, then gasped for air as her mouth moved away and across his cheek.

"I really don't think this is a good idea." he sputtered, backing away so quickly he ended up bumping into one of the hors d'oeuvres tables. Instinctively he put his hands backward for leverage, only to find one of them knocking against something extremely cold and slimy.

"But it's an excellent idea." the girl purred. "What do you say we get out of here and find our own fun?"

"Oh, I don't think I could do that…" Ken protested, his right hand getting colder and wetter by the minute. "It wouldn't be polite…"

"My Daddy is hosting this party." the girl informed Ken, as if that fact should impress him. "I'll get you out of it. I can make Daddy do anything I want." This last statement was uttered proudly, with a hint of malice.

"Excuse me, Miss Karin." one of the waiters had suddenly appeared, much to Ken's intense relief. "You father would like to see you."

"Now?" Karin's eyes narrowed dangerously.

"He… he insisted…" the waiter stuttered, cowering away from Karin's wrath.

"Oh, very well." Karin huffed. "I'll see you later, Hottie." She trailed one finger along Ken's cheek, down his neck and onto his chest as she departed, leaving Ken shivering in genuine fear. Galactor he could deal with, but this girl was clearly more than he could handle.

The moment Karin was gone, Ken took a deep breath, trying his best to calm his pounding heart. He sighed, leaning forward and bringing up his right hand to rub at his face. However a revolting stench assaulted his nostrils, causing him to pull away his fingers in disgust.

"What the hell…?" he wondered, turning to see what was going on. Looking down at the hors d'oeuvres table, it appeared that in his haste to get away from Karin he had dunked his hand inside a bowl of iced caviar. His nose wrinkled in disgust, the offending odor wafting up to his nostrils. Worse yet, the bowl had clearly been disturbed, and was obviously no longer sanitary. Ken would have to find some way to dispose of this mess.

Nervously he glanced around, relieved to find that no one seemed to be looking his way. Quickly he grabbed the dirty bowl, sticking it behind his tuxedo jacket for quick cover. He caught sight of himself in a nearby decorative wall mirror, groaning as he realized that he looked like a fourth-rate James Bond impersonator.

Quickly Ken moved over to a nearby potted plant, rapidly dumping the contents of the bowl onto the soil, then concealing the dish itself amongst the leaves. He didn't want to think about how many dollars he had just wasted with his clumsiness, but at least this way no one else would be eating the dirtied delicacy.

That left only one problem remaining: his hand. Even with his arm at his side, Ken could smell the disgusting, fishy odor from the caviar oils. He had to find a place to wash it off.

Grimly, Ken headed in the direction Jack had gone when he had excused himself. It didn't take him long to find the facilities. Unfortunately, there was a line of women standing outside, all of them chattering and looking like they were about to settle in for the night.

"Excuse me, is there another bathroom?" Ken asked a passing waiter.

"Try down that hall." the waiter pointed. "We use the one down there." He frowned, his nose wrinkling suspiciously. "Do you smell something?"

"No, nothing." Ken replied hurriedly. "Thanks." He moved off rapidly before the man was able to pinpoint the source of the odor.

The hallway to which Ken had been directed had a series of uniform doors, none of which had a bathroom sign on the exterior. Ken supposed that made sense: this was a private residence after all, not a convention hall. Yet it didn't help matters any. Sighing, Ken began trying all of the doors, careful to only use his left hand. The majority of them were locked, narrowing the search but making it more frustrating all the same.

Eventually a door opened. Ken stumbled into the room eagerly, only to discover that it wasn't the bathroom. A group of five stern men sitting around a conference table stared at him.

"You're not Simon!" one of them snarled. "Who the hell are you?"

"Uh, Simon's on his way." Ken said hurriedly, backing out of the room and closing the door behind him. He could only hope that they wouldn't follow.

Fortunately no one emerged from the room, and Ken began attempting doors again, this time with a little more caution. On his third attempt a door opened, and Ken carefully stuck his head inside, squinting into the dark interior. This room appeared to be some kind of bedroom. Perhaps there would be an ensuite bathroom?

Ken stepped inside, turning on the lights so that he could see. The illumination was met with an outraged bellow.

"What the hell?"

To Ken's immense embarrassment, he realized that a man and woman lay on the bed, their clothes in a state of disarray. The woman, a brunette, could have given Karin a run for her money in the tight dress department, although that apparently hadn't stopped the man's hand from finding its way underneath the low v-neck. The man… Ken's eyes goggled as he realized that the man was Jack.

"Ken!" Jack's expression went from angry to pleased in an instant. "Good to see you! Come over here and meet… uh, what your name again, Honey?"

"Cherie." she said coldly, darting a look of pure venom in Ken's direction.

"Cherie's one of our new recruits." Jack explained, although Ken really wasn't looking for an explanation. "She's eager to 'impress the boss', eh, Cherie?" He grinned lecherously at her, and Cherie's expression quickly turned to one of fawning adoration.

"Well, I was just looking for the bathroom…" Ken stepped backward. "I didn't mean to interrupt…"

"Nonsense!" Jack got up from the bed, moving over toward Ken and grabbing his right hand before Ken could stop him. "We're friends, right? We both work for the same organization. I'm sure Cherie's willing to accommodate."

"Of course." Cherie's demeanor indicated that she was eager to please, even if Ken knew better. Jack dragged Ken over to the bed.

"I don't want to impose." Ken protested. "And I have to get going. I'm expected… at a meeting."

"Oh, well, business before pleasure, huh?" Jack smirked. "I'll see you later, Ken."

"Sure." Ken swallowed nervously, hurriedly exiting the room. He wasn't certain he wanted to know if this kind of thing was a regular occurrence within the ISO, but he made a mental note to discuss the issue with Dr. Nambu.

Another dead end, and this one more embarrassing than the first. Ken was starting to need the bathroom for reasons other than washing his hand. Fortunately the next door he tried opened onto the desired facilities. Best of all, the room was empty. Ken nearly sighed with relief as he was finally able to satisfy the call of nature and wash his hands. He checked three times, ensuring that the fishy odor was gone, before leaving the bathroom and moving back down the hallway to rejoin the party.


	3. Chapter 3

Unfortunately, while Ken's return to the party went more smoothly than his departure, he found himself once more in an uncomfortable situation, doing his best to make conversation amongst strangers, only to meet up with awkward silences, or worse, accidentally insulting his speaking partners. He was almost beginning to wish that he had given in and brought Jun with him when he saw Jack re-entering the room.

"Ken, there you are!" Jack came up, clapping Ken's shoulder with his left hand and shaking his right. Jack was sweating profusely, his entire body seeming to be exuding moisture, as evidenced by his wet palms and the pit stains on his jacket.

"How did the meeting go?" Jack poked Ken in the side. "Bet you wish you'd stayed with me and Carrie, huh?"

"Cherie." Ken corrected absently.

"Whatever. Who can keep these women straight? There are only so many 'opportunities for advancement' in the organization, and they all want those positions." Jack grinned widely. "Carrie is good at positions."

"I'm sure she is." Ken replied uncomfortably, glancing around, looking for a way out. Fortunately, Jack ended the conversation first.

"And I think I see my next 'interview'." Jack smirked. "See you later, Ken." He clapped Ken on the shoulder once more before heading off.

"Sure." Ken recoiled slightly, sighing with relief as the man departed. He raised his hand to his forehead, his eyes widening as he pulled it away in disgust.

His hand still smelled of fish!

Hadn't he washed it thoroughly? Grimacing, Ken realized that perhaps he had been somewhat hasty in his assessment that his hand was clean. Worriedly he glanced over toward the nearby bathroom, noting that it was just as crowded as ever. Moving over to the back hall, he discovered that after trying all of those doors, he really wasn't certain where the other bathroom had been. Turning in confusion, Ken spotted a waiter with a tray of dirty champagne flutes at the far end of the hall. He went after the man, hoping to catch up so that he could ask for directions. Ken moved as quickly as he could without actually running, not willing to make more of a spectacle of himself than he already had done.

By the time he caught up with the waiter, the man was just going through a large set of double doors. Curiously Ken passed through the doors as well, surprised to see that he had entered the kitchen.

The kitchen was nearly five times the size of Ken's entire shack at the airfield, split into one main kitchen and two 'side' kitchens, affording multiple preparation areas. The main kitchen and one of the side kitchens were occupied, while the other side kitchen was currently empty of people, although something was clearly baking in the oven. A six-burner gas stove took up half of a central island, and three large pots were simmering merrily. The entire room was uncomfortably warm and humid, to the point where Ken began sweating profusely. Unconsciously he tugged at his bow tie, loosening it slightly, then took off his jacket, tossing it carelessly onto the island before heading over to the sink.

Diligently Ken washed his hands with soap and the hottest water the faucet was capable of producing. He then sniffed carefully at his fingers to ensure that this time they were completely odor-free. After two thorough washes, the scent of fish was definitely gone.

But there was something else… Ken breathed in the air warily, noting an acrid scent: smoke!

Whirling, Ken turned to see that the sleeve of his jacket was just touching the edge of one of the gas burners on the stove. He snatched up the garment, grabbing the sleeve and dousing it in the sink. Pulling the jacket from the stream of water he realized that the fire was indeed out, but that he had definitely forfeited his security deposit on the tuxedo rental. Great. That was something else he couldn't afford. He could only hope that his credit card would be willing to carry the damages for a few months.

Even worse, the entire kitchen now smelled of bitter smoke, and thin grey streaks were visible up near the white ceiling. Ken coughed as the acrid air filled his lungs.

The only good news was that the scorching on his jacket was black, and with luck it wouldn't be entirely obvious when he returned to the party. Still, the lower half of the sleeve was wet. Ken wrung out the garment over the sink, then grabbed a dishtowel and wrapped it around the sleeve, squeezing the entire affair to get out the rest of the water from the burned cloth.

Once he was done the jacket was damp, but the damage wasn't immediately evident. It would have to do. Unfortunately the smoke smell was getting worse, and Ken heard voices nearby. He had to get rid of the odor before other people came into this part of the kitchen.

There was a large vent on the ceiling, so there had to be a fan somewhere. Spotting a control panel on the wall Ken moved over, searching for some instructions as to how to turn on the air circulation. Unfortunately, none of the buttons were labeled, and their layout on the panel wasn't intuitive. He would just have to press them randomly and see what happened.

The first button did not appear to have any effect, while the second button turned off the lights. Ken quickly pressed it again, turning them back on, hoping that no one outside the area had noticed. The remaining buttons did not appear to have any effect.

Perhaps he had to press a certain series of buttons in sequence? Ken frowned at the complicated panel, randomly pressing buttons in a rapidfire manner (avoiding the lights) until at last, he heard the fan begin to activate. Quickly snatching up his jacket he exited the kitchen, but in his haste he left through a door in the opposite wall from which he had entered. To his surprise he was back in the main reception hall, on the far side of the large room. It seemed that in his wanderings he had made a complete circle of the ground floor.

Naturally the kitchen entrance came out close to the dining area, and Ken could see an extremely long table set with fine china and silverware. From the look of things, dinner was to be served shortly.

Glancing around the room, Ken's eyes fell on Karin at the other end of the hall. She looked up, smiling at him in a predatory fashion, and began making her way over to where he stood. Hurriedly Ken moved away, doing his best to keep the crowd between himself and Karin, so that she would have difficulty spotting where he had gone.

Ken now found himself near the corner housing the massive Christmas tree. A middle-aged woman was crouching beside the tree, placing wrapped gifts beneath it. A large box of the gifts stood open next to her.

"May I be of assistance?" Ken asked politely, bending down to address the woman. His offer was more than polite, it was in his own self-interest. Karin wouldn't be likely to look for him here.

"Thank you, young man!" the woman smiled gratefully. "I should have put these down here earlier, but there was so much to do… and the help just isn't what it used to be, you know."

"Uh… sure." Ken replied, kneeling down and grabbing a package from the box. He placed it in an empty spot toward the trunk of the tree.

"Be careful with those!" the woman warned, just as Ken deposited the box, a soft tinkling noise coming from within. "They're very delicate!"

"I understand." Ken nodded, hoping that she hadn't heard the sound. Apparently she hadn't, as she continued to place gifts beneath the tree. Ken followed suit, being more careful with the remaining boxes. He and the woman had nearly finished when he heard a voice whispering in his ear.

"There you are! I was looking for you."

Ken started as he cringed from that all-too-familiar predatory purr. The box in his hand tinkled dangerously and quickly he placed it down.

"Is this your young man, Karin?" the older woman asked in an offhanded manner. "He's been very helpful, but we're nearly done. You can have him back now."

"Are you sure?" Ken asked solicitously. "I'm happy to assist with anything else you need done. After all, it's a lot of work, throwing a party like this. You shouldn't have to do it all alone. " He sent a pleading look in the older woman's direction, but she either didn't see it or chose to misinterpret his meaning.

"I'm just fine, young man. You can go with Karin now." the woman replied, clearly bored with the conversation as she placed the last gift. "There, all done. Now I have to see about dinner. It's about time to call everyone to the table…" she fussed, rising to her feet and departing the scene.

"I'm hungry, how about you?" Karin asked, trailing a crimson fingernail along Ken's jaw and down to his chest, leaving no doubt as to the true meaning of her words.

"I think dinner will be served shortly." Ken replied, backing away as much as politeness would allow. Karin smiled, knowing she had him cornered. She leaned forward, her face moving toward Ken's. He grimaced, leaning back…

"Karin, there you are!" A man in his mid-thirties approached them, taking Karin by the arm and firmly pulling her away from Ken. "I've been looking everywhere for you!"

"Moore, I told you, it's over." Karin huffed. "You're just too boring."

"I'm not boring, sweetheart, let me show you." Moore insisted, dragging Karin away.

"Yes, you are!" Karin pouted. "Moore…"

Ken sighed with relief as Moore took Karin away from him. It didn't look as if Moore would be able to change Karin's mind, but if he could keep her occupied for the rest of the evening, that was just fine with Ken. As it was, he was sorry he had ever come. Hopefully he had put in enough time at this event already. Maybe he could just sneak out…

A soft chime sounded throughout the room, followed by the announcement that everyone should be seated for dinner. Ken sighed regretfully. If he left now, his absence might be noticed. Hopefully after the meal he'd be able to depart.

Dinner was being served at two long tables side by side at the end of the room, between the Christmas tree and the kitchen door. Nervously Ken looked around, wondering if there was some kind of seating assignment. Certainly everyone else seemed to know where they were going, as they moved purposefully toward chairs and sat down. The women who had been in line for the bathroom miraculously appeared, seating themselves in a manner that made it clear that they were the guests of the various men attending the party. Cherie passed by Ken, turning her face away as if she were refusing to acknowledge him. A vague, fishy scent trailed in her wake.

"Over here, young man!" a heavy, older woman gestured toward Ken, before he could ponder the matter. "There's still a seat here." The woman pointed at an empty chair next to her, right at the end of the second table. Ken sat down gratefully, glad to have found a place.

"Oh, thank you! It's so embarrassing to be next to an empty seat." the woman tittered nervously. "Everyone thinks that no one wants to talk to you, and you know how _that_ is…" The woman went on, not letting Ken get a word in edgewise. Fortunately he had had enough of small talk and was happy to let the woman carry the conversation by herself as the waiters laid napkins on their laps and began to serve a salad course. She talked even as she ate, allowing Ken to remain silent up until the second course, some kind of tomato soup, was served. Ken took a sip of his soup, then grimaced.

"It's cold!" he frowned. Had the kitchen workers forgotten to heat it up?

"It's gazpacho." the woman next to him explained. "It's supposed to be cold. Very refreshing."

"It's December." Ken noted. "It's plenty cold outside."

"Well, you know these fancy dinners!" the woman tittered, before leaning over in a conspiratorial manner. "Honestly, my husband doesn't like gazpacho either. Something about cold soup not being natural."

"Your husband?"

"Yes." the woman tugged on the arm of the balding, heavyset man next to her. "Albert, this is… what did you say your name was again?"

"Ken."

"Albert, this is Ken. Ken, this is my husband Albert." Albert turned and grunted at Ken, before resuming his conversation with the person on his other side.

"Oh, and I'm Martha." the woman added, almost as an afterthought. "So silly of me not to introduce myself earlier!" She giggled, her double chin jiggling ludicrously.

"Albert works in Special Operations." Martha informed Ken. "What do you do?"

"Oh, I'm just a test pilot." Ken shrugged, referring to the 'official position' that had been created for him at the ISO.

"Just a test pilot?" Martha frowned distastefully. "Then I don't understand. Why are you here? This is an officer's party."

"Well, technically I have a rank of Commander." Ken shrugged, attempting to explain the apparent discrepancy.

"A Commander?" Martha's eyes grew wide. "Albert is only a Captain. Oh, my! And you're so young!"

"I'm sure Albert makes valuable contributions to his department." Ken replied.

"Oh, he does! He does!" Martha went on to expound upon the virtues of her husband, clearly angling to have Ken recommend him for a promotion. Inwardly Ken groaned, yet he kept nodding politely and ignoring his cold soup. Eventually the waiter whisked the bowl away, replacing it with a plate of roasted chicken. The dish had something of an acrid odor and Ken wrinkled his nose, wondering what kind of 'gourmet delicacy' this was supposed to be.

"I asked for roasted chicken, not smoked chicken!"

A voice screeched across the room and instantly everyone shrank into their seats. There was something oddly familiar about the sound, yet Ken was unable to place his finger on it.

"Oh, my." Martha quivered nervously. "Oh, my; oh, my; oh, my…"

A tall man with long, blonde hair tied back in a ponytail stood at the head of the other table. He was dressed immaculately in a dark purple tuxedo, the cold, hard lines of his face at odds with his softly rounded lips. He scowled at the waiter cowering before him.

"Why are you serving smoked chicken?" the man demanded. "You ignore the menu, then you serve the most vile, disgusting…" The man swept his entire plate to the floor with an elegant gesture, the dish shattering as surprised nearby guests were spattered with food. The waiter next to the man mumbled helplessly, while others rushed in to clean up the mess the man had created. The guests who had inadvertently been in the 'line of fire' were left to fend for themselves, cleaning themselves off with napkins dipped into glasses of water. Ken noted that no one left to visit the bathroom for cleanup.

Before Ken could react, a waiter came from behind, reaching out to snatch Ken's plate away from underneath his nose. Less than a minute later, as everyone was still collecting themselves, Ken found another plate being deposited on the table in front of him.

"What's this?" Martha sniffed indignantly at the pasta dish.

"Vegetarian entrée." the waiter explained. "After removing all of the other plates, there wasn't enough chicken to go around."

"Well get me a plate of chicken!" Martha demanded. "It isn't _my_ fault there's a problem! Vegetarian entrée! What do I look like, a rabbit?" In reality, with her chin wobbling and large stomach protruding from the tight confines of her evening gown, Ken thought she looked something like a slug. The thought was amusing enough that he had to stifle back a laugh, turning it into a cough.

"Ma'am, the chicken is for the head table only." the waiter told Martha nervously. "Those were my instructions. But if you want an exception, I could ask the host…"

"No, that's quite all right." Martha blanched slightly before answering the waiter sourly. "I'll eat your damn vegetarian entrée." She pouted childishly as the waiter departed.

"Actually, it's quite good." Ken told her, taking a bite. "I think you'll enjoy it."

"It's the principle of the thing!" Martha insisted. "Being treated like a second class citizen, and for what? Unbelievable!"

"Better that than to offend our host." Ken pointed out.

"Well, you've got a point there." Martha huffed. She took a bite of her vegetarian pasta. Within minutes her plate was clean, while Ken wasn't even halfway finished. He supposed that despite her complaints she must have enjoyed the dish.

"There you are!" Karin swooped in out of nowhere, wrapping her arms around Ken's neck from behind in a manner that had him fighting an urge to flip her over his head and send her crashing down onto the table. "I was looking for you everywhere!"

"I've been at dinner with everyone else." Ken said nervously.

"I need to sit down." Karin stated the obvious, her eyes narrowing. "Why aren't there any seats? There should be a seat for me!" She flounced over to the head table, approaching the party's host.

"Daddy, I don't have a seat!" Karin whined. "Where's my seat?"

"Perhaps if you had been on time for dinner, you would have had a seat." the man in the purple suit noted dryly, yet Ken noticed the man's hand clenching into a fist around his knife.

"I was busy!" Karin protested. "You know how it is, Daddy! Moore was bothering me…"

"Moore has been here at the dinner table since the soup course." Karin's father pointed out, his fingers gesturing at the man in question. Moore was doing his best to appear entirely innocent of Karin's affairs.

"That's because he's a man." Karin huffed. "You don't understand women, Daddy!"

"Believe me, I understand far more than you think I do." Karin's father smirked slightly, his expression somehow momentarily familiar to Ken. Yet the feeling vanished when the man's face turned to its previous haughty demeanor.

"Still, you're right about one thing. There should be a place for you somewhere." he frowned, beckoning imperiously to a nervous man standing nearby. "Where is my daughter's place?"

"Sire, there were sixty places prepared, as ordered, and they are all taken…" the man bowed obsequiously, yet his nervous demeanor gave away his anxiety at the host's displeasure.

"And there are only sixty people here!" Karin's father announced imperiously. "There were only fifty-eight on the guest list, as well as myself and Karin."

"Sire… there are sixty people seated…" the man looked up nervously, clearly counting heads one more time. "Yes, sixty."

"Well someone clearly doesn't know how to count." Karin's father sneered. "Find my daughter a place and do it _now_."

"Yes, Sire!" the man jumped.


	4. Chapter 4

"I know exactly where I want to sit." Karin told the man in a self-satisfied voice. Ken's heart sank as she stalked over to where he was seated. "Right here."

"Of course. Immediately, Miss." the man scurried away, returning momentarily with a chair. Two waiters followed him, bearing the various accoutrements for a place setting.

"Would everyone shift down, please?" the man asked politely, but the guests further down the table began talking loudly, clearly pretending they didn't hear. Ken was forced to move closer to Martha, the small amount of 'personal space' between them depleted to practically nothing as Karin squeezed into what remained at the corner of the table. Unfortunately, that put her practically in Ken's lap.

"Perfect." she smirked, resting her hand on Ken's thigh as her place was set by the waiters. Ken jerked his leg away, only to bump into Martha, who was holding her water glass. The clear liquid sloshed over the side and spilled onto the table.

"I'm very sorry." Ken tried to apologize.

"Oh, nonsense, all in the name of young love." Martha replied cheerily, her eyes darting nervously over to Karin. "What a wonderful party!"

"Isn't it though?" Karin grinned. "And here I've found such wonderful company."

"Oh, you and Ken here?" Martha asked with false innocence.

"Ken… so that's your name?" Karin questioned.

"Oh, yes." Martha cut into the conversation as Ken did his best to avoid Karin's roaming hands in the cramped space. "Ken is a Commander, you know."

"A Commander?" Karin's eyebrow arched. "And I've never seen you before?"

"Uh…" Ken wasn't certain how to respond.

"I thought I knew everyone who worked for Daddy." Karin's eyes narrowed.

"Well, it's a big organization." Ken offered weakly.

"And you're so young… you must have risen through the ranks very quickly." Martha stated.

"You could say that." Ken replied, flustered. "I'm good at what I do."

"How good are you?" Karin leered, her hand moving dangerously high on Ken's thigh.

"I… I'm sorry, Karin, I must have given you the wrong impression." Ken said nervously.

"Wrong impression about what?" Karin asked casually, her hand moving toward dangerous territory.

"I…" Ken thought fast, seizing upon the first thing he could say that wouldn't be horribly offensive to his host's daughter. "I have a girlfriend."

"A girlfriend?" Karin's hand froze and stiffened, before gripping Ken's thigh tightly. "What do you mean, a _girlfriend_?" Her words and manner were sharp. A fury rose in her eyes, barely held back by… something…

"You know… a girl… who's… a friend…" Ken wasn't entirely certain what to make of Karin's near-violent reaction.

"What's her name?" Karin snapped. "How long have you been going out? If she's so great, why isn't she here?"

"Jun. We've known each other for ten years. She had to work tonight." Ken replied as quickly as he could, hoping to get Karin off of his back. Instead, her fingers dug into his thigh so deeply that he knew he'd have a bruise in the morning. Karin barely noticed as the entrée plates were removed from the table and some kind of dessert was served. Her face took on a dangerous expression, and for a brief moment Ken wondered if he was in deeper than he had realized.

Without warning Karin stood, wordlessly sweeping away from the table, stormclouds whirling about her head. Ken sighed with relief; whatever had happened, he had escaped Karin's sights. He began to devour his dessert, hoping to leave the party once the meal had concluded. He had eaten half of it before he even registered that it was chocolate soufflé. Normally Ken would have enjoyed such a treat, but right now all he could think of was getting out of there.

"My goodness, leading Karin on like that… you're a brave man." Martha tittered nervously.

"I wasn't 'leading her on'." Ken snapped. "She never gave me a chance to say 'no'."

"But why would you want to say 'no'?" Martha appeared genuinely confused. Ken sighed, deciding that it would be easier not to explain. He merely shrugged and returned to his dessert.

As he was finishing the last of his meal Ken glanced up, noticing that Karin was deep in conversation with her father. Instantly understanding that things could get ugly, Ken rose, not even bothering to bid goodbye to Martha. It was time to leave _now_.

"Everyone!"

The people in the room stared at their host as he stood, clapping his hands together sharply for attention. The partygoers fell silent, as they waited for the man in the purple tuxedo to speak.

"My daughter, Karin, wishes to perform for us." the man announced. "Gather in the near corner." He swept his arm, indicating a large seating area next to the Christmas tree and a massive fireplace where a giant Yule log crackled merrily as it burned. Ken cursed inwardly, knowing that he would be unable to leave now without making a scene. He would have to sit through Karin's performance. Perhaps he could hide in the rear…

With this thought in mind, Ken sat down on an overstuffed chair in the back corner of the 'viewing area', far from the tree and the fireplace. As he had hoped, the holiday décor made an excellent 'background' for Karin, placing her far away from Ken's location.

Karin approached the fireplace, standing tall as she waited for everyone to get settled, holding a wireless microphone in her hand. Her eyes moved around the crowd, causing Ken to shrink back behind the people in front of him.

When everyone was settled, Karin's father walked toward a large, almost throne-like chair that was positioned next to the fireplace. Rather than giving him a good view of his daughter, it let him look down on the guests at the party. There would be no hiding from this man. Fortunately, it wasn't the father Ken was interested in avoiding.

A loud, pumping beat came through the sound systems, filling the room as Karin began to sway, her eyes still searching as she began to sing.

_Hey! Hey! You! You!_

_I don't like your girlfriend!_

_No way! No way!_

_I think you need a new one!_

_Hey! Hey! You! You!_

_I could be your girlfriend!_

Ken blanched, sinking further into his chair. Unfortunately, somehow the small movement caught Karin's eye and she turned to stare at him. She whirled, striding toward him triumphantly while she sang, bumping and grinding as she made her way through the crowd to where Ken was seated.

If he could have sunk into the floor, Ken would have done so. Instead he was forced to be the center of attention as everyone turned to observe Karin bearing down upon him. Wiggling through the maze of couches and chairs, Karin finally made her way to Ken's seat, immediately leaning over him such that her barely-concealed cleavage hung right before his unwilling eyes. He skittered backward in the stuffed chair as far as he could, which wasn't nearly far enough. Sensing his reluctance, Karin turned slowly, moving to sit down on his lap. Horrified, Ken lurched his body aside, so that she was sitting between his legs, rather than on top of them. Still, it wasn't much better as Karin proceeded to gyrate in a fashion better suited to a Las Vegas strip club than an elegant holiday party.

_Hey! Hey! You! You!_

_I could be your girlfriend!_

Ken's face was as red as Karin's crimson dress. He sputtered nervously, desperately attempting to keep his hands away from Karin's body. His eyes darted around, seeking out anyone or anything that could help him, yet all he found were the amused and disdainful stares of the other partygoers. He caught Jack's eye and the man grinned, giving Ken a double thumbs up. Nearby, Martha tittered nervously behind her hands.

Frantically looking for anyone who could help him, Ken's despairing gaze finally fell upon the party's host. Karin's father sat ramrod straight in his ornate chair, his hands gripping the elaborately carved arms so tightly it appeared that his fingers were digging into the soft wood. The man's icy glare spoke volumes.

Ken needed to get out of there.

Karin's father flicked a finger at another man standing nearby, and when the man bent down, Karin's father whispered something into his ear. The standing man nodded, glancing up occasionally to look at Ken with hard eyes.

What the hell was Ken going to do now? It was bad enough that he was causing a scene; he certainly didn't want to get into a fight with anyone! Yet Karin continued to thrash and moan on the chair, grinding her bottom into Ken's crotch, which fortunately was so frightened and disgusted by the entire affair that it refused to react. If Karin noticed his physical indifference, it only encouraged her more.

She turned over so that she was now facing him, and Ken's panicked mind began imagining what horrific thing she would do next as she pressed her body along his, her hands beginning to roam. He attempted to push her away, but Karin was stronger than she looked, and to get her off of him Ken would have had to practically throw her to the floor, which he suspected would endear him to his host even less.

Karin leaned in, singing in Ken's face. He turned away, yet she grabbed his chin, forcing him to look back. She pulled her microphone away from her mouth, pursing her lips. Ken froze in terror, unable to react.

"Ahhhh!"

The frightened cry disrupted Karin's song, and the background music coming over the sound system was quickly muted. Everyone turned to look toward the direction from which the scream had come. Martha was kneeling over a woman who had collapsed to the floor, such that she was practically lying underneath the giant Christmas tree.

"She just fainted!" Martha cried. "She said she didn't feel well and then…"

Everyone began talking and murmuring, and in the distraction Ken was able to push Karin off of him. She stumbled, staring at him as he rose to his feet.

"Didn't you like my song?" she asked.

"Next time I think you should choose something more seasonal." Ken suggested. "Maybe 'Jingle Bells'?" Karin glared at him, opening her mouth to respond, but Ken didn't intend to give her the chance.

"I don't feel well either." he lied, dashing off. He felt her eyes on him and he ran toward the bathroom, hoping she would let him be for a moment so that he could slip away. Unfortunately, as it had been the other two times Ken had sought it out, the bathroom was currently occupied. A horde of ladies was tending to the collapsed woman, splashing water on her face and uttering presumably soothing noises. The ill woman was apparently beginning to recover. Some of the other female guests appeared green as well, and even as Ken watched, another partygoer began to faint.

"Maybe it's food poisoning…" one of the women whispered. She wasn't the only one. Rumors and gossip were beginning to swirl. Soon a crowd was growing around the bathroom, men as well as women, many of them appearing similarly ill. Ken pushed through the sea of people, attempting to get to an exit. This kind of confusion would make for the perfect cover.

The floor suddenly lurched, sending almost everyone sprawling to the ground. With his training Ken was able to remain on his feet, but only barely. The floor was now a disheveled mess of arm, legs, lost high-heeled shoes and some mess from the few people who hadn't been able to get their upset stomachs to the bathroom in time. The air was ripe with the stench of partially digested dinners.

"Earthquake!" screamed one woman, as the ground lurched again. Everyone began scrambling to their feet and running around in a mad panic as chaos took hold.

In the swarm of frightened people, only one man stood firm. Karin's father was shouting orders left and right, unheard and unheeded. His face was pale and pinched, as if something had gone horribly wrong. Ken supposed it had: the party was now officially a disaster.

Without warning the fire sprinklers turned on, sending a flood of water cascading down upon the already distressed partygoers. The rush of the sprinklers and the horrified screams of the guests filled Ken's ears, even as the deluge of water soaked through his clothing. Men and women skidded and stumbled along the floor, clutching to the walls and furniture for dear life.

Thanks to the overzealous fire sprinklers, puddles were already appearing on the carpet, rapidly accumulating into a small lake. By the time Ken reached the exit to the house there was perhaps an inch of water on the floor, which was already beginning to cascade down the front steps.

Outside the house the valets were staring in shock, frozen with indecision. The ground shook, more strongly than before, causing the driveway to buckle.

"My car!" Ken shouted. "I need my car!" He grabbed a frightened valet, forcing the teen to show him where the keys were kept.

"It's just an earthquake. The fire sprinklers went off. You'll be fine." Ken assured the young man, but the valet wasn't having any of it. After showing Ken where the keys were being kept he pointed vaguely in the direction of the parking lot before leaving to run off with his fellows. Where he thought he was going was anyone's guess; the house was located deep in the country, far from any urban areas.

The ground was still shaking, but now with smaller, more regular vibrations. Being used to running through collapsing buildings, this didn't hinder Ken too much as he dashed for his vehicle. He was able to easily locate his clunker amongst the sea of luxury cars, some of which had been damaged by the ground tremors. Quickly jumping into his vehicle, Ken pulled out of the lot, racing as fast as he dared down the driveway and heading for home. In his haste he failed to notice the large transport ship dropping down out of the sky to land on the grass beside the house.

The party was finally over. If only Ken could forget that this night had ever happened.


	5. Epilogue

Epilogue

"What the hell happened?" Berg Katse demanded, water streaming down his face. He snorted in disgust as a green-uniformed soldier handed him a towel. Grabbing the towel he used it to dry off as best he could, before settling into the front seat of the emergency transport vehicle.

"The base blew up." one of the goons explained.

"I know that, you idiot!" Katse screeched, wadding up his wet towel and throwing it like a baseball at the man's head. It was a direct hit, and the soldier stumbled in surprise before falling to the floor with a dull thud. The smug feeling that resulted from his action only stayed with Berg Katse for a moment as the reality of what had just occurred sunk into his consciousness once more.

"Sire, it appears that the underground base's self-destruct sequence was activated." Donroy offered, accessing the records through the transport's terminal. "It's been completely destroyed."

"What?" Katse shouted. "How can that be?" As if it wasn't bad enough that his favorite purple silk tuxedo was completely ruined!

"According to the last data transfer, a few minutes before the detonation, it appears that the self-destruct was set from the secret access panel in the kitchen." Donroy examined the files, Katse hovering over his shoulder. The secretary winced as the Galactor Lord's wet sleeve pressed against his cheek. Donroy was just glad that as a lowly member of the administrative pool he hadn't been invited to the party. Sitting in the transport waiting to take Lord Katse home was bad enough, but from what he had seen, the majority of people in that house had not made it out, thanks to Katse's violent temper. Upon leaving, the Lord of Galactor had ordered his guards to shoot everyone who still remained. Only Karin, bedraggled and sobbing at the back of the transport, had managed to escape the resulting disasterous ordeal.

"Who did this?" Katse raged. It had to have been some spy. Had Donroy allowed an ISO agent to slip through their security?

"A spy…" Katse hissed.

"Sire, you vetted the guest list yourself." Donroy was quick to remind Katse.

The Galactor Leader glared at his secretary.

"And the servers, cooks and other personnel were brought in specially from Cross Karakorum." Donroy pulled nervously at his collar. "It's possible there was a spy, but highly unlikely…"

"Are you saying it was sheer incompetence?" Katse raged. Donroy turned pale, nervously focusing back on his reports as an excuse to look away.

"Whoever it was, they're dead now." the secretary pointed out, cowering back as Katse turned to regard him with a cold stare. "Whoever activated the self-destruct had to have been in the house, right?"

"True." Katse appeared to be slightly mollified for a moment, before his anger took over once more. "But what about the toxins? How did they get released? I saw them there, underneath the tree!"

"Perhaps… Perhaps someone disturbed the gifts?" Donroy stumbled over his words, trembling at the sight of Lord Katse in a full rage. "The flasks were fragile."

"Even a mere whiff and people were falling ill!" Katse ranted. "Once it had been deployed in the water supply, millions would have fallen! What will I tell Leader X?"

Katse slumped into his chair, his head falling into his hands. Why had this happened? After he had been commended by Leader X for killing the leader of the Red Impulse Squadron, Katse had thought he was on a roll. X's plan to deploy the toxin in various water supplies across the world had been brilliant, but it had been Katse's idea to distribute the lethal poison as innocuous Christmas gifts at the officer's holiday party. He knew whom Leader X would blame for this failure. In comparison the destruction of the base was nothing, although it would be another addition to Berg Katse's long line of failures.

"Daddy, you killed him!" Karin wailed, lost in her own personal melodrama, ignorant of what was truly at stake. Mascara streaked her face, making her look like a drowned raccoon.

"I wanted him and you killed him!" Karin whined again. She was pathetic. How many times had he told her to use waterproof makeup? He knew what he was talking about, but did she ever listen? Suddenly Berg Katse had had enough of his wayward daughter.

"Shut up!" he shouted, backhanding her across the face as she approached him. Karin fell back against the wall, quietly sobbing once more.

"I have bigger problems than your uncontrolled libido!" he snarled, slumping back into his seat again. Sensing the tension in the air, the green-uniformed guards moved away, giving the Galactor Leader as much personal space as possible.

"Why me?" Katse hissed through his teeth. "Nothing ever goes right for me!"

Even Christmas had no mercy for Berg Katse.


End file.
